


Bad Blood

by MixterGlacia



Series: Strike Consume Poison [1]
Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: 035 Is A Relentless Flirt, Amnesia, Canon-Typical Violence, Multi, Original Character(s), Past Relationship(s), Self-Insert, family can be a mask a fake doctor and a tree, identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MixterGlacia/pseuds/MixterGlacia
Summary: How does one come to terms with their life being a lie?
Relationships: SCP-035 (SCP Foundation)/Original Male Character(s), SCP-035/SCP-049 (SCP Foundation), SCP-049 (SCP Foundation)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Strike Consume Poison [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831768
Kudos: 30





	Bad Blood

**Author's Note:**

> "If we're only ever looking back we would drive ourselves insane  
> As the friendship goes resentment grows  
> We will walk our different ways..."  
> -Bastille

Ash doesn't get it. During the two months he's been translating for a particularly _annoying_ mask, there's been no less than three researchers, and twelve guards that have gone missing...or turned up dead.

Yet…

He was unaffected.

Today's staff was _particularly_ off. When Ash gives enough of a shit to ask, the madness boils over. One of the two guards lifts his firearm. Three deafening shots ring out. With that, the number of people went to one lonely D-Class and an all too dangerous SCP. 

"About damn time." They cackle. "Some idiots don't know when they're not wanted." 

Ash would love to have some _context_ for what just happened.

That's when 035 turns their attention to him. "Hiya."

The man changed his mind. Ash only desires to put as much distance between himself and the Keter-Class as possible, thanks.

"Aww, c'mon gorgeous. Not even a hello for me?"

Ash shakes his head, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. In his back-pedaling, he trips over one of the corpses. The SCP tsk's as the man hits the floor.

"No need to be a rude bitch, babe."

" 'm not your babe." Ash snaps.

"By the gods, you _can_ speak!!" The mask howls in delight. "Also, why not? I'll have you know that I'm quite a catch!"

"How many bodies am I surrounded by at the moment?"

The SCP tilts the head of their host. "I know, I'm a monster. Consider it a gift."

Ash flinches, a headache starting to form behind his eyes. 

" 'sides, I'd bet money that you probably did something pretty unsavory yourself to end up here too. Good little soldiers don't become D-Class'." 035 muses, leaning closer, grin deepening somehow. "Tell me, lover boy, what sorts of skeletons do you have in _your_ closet?"

The man tries to shove the mask back, only earning a snicker from them. "I don't _know_! You know I don't!!"

A distressingly cold hand brushes his cheek. "You mean the amnesia thing? One of the guards told me." 

"Obviously. You get information. It's because of your influence, everyone tells you what you want to hear." He argues, slapping the offending limb away.

"You never do."

Ash blinks, brow furrowing. "What?"

"You wouldn't talk to me. Just let the lab coat nerds do it for you." The SCP's face flips to the tragedy side. "You only translate, even when I told you how nice you looked! What do these Foundation idiots need with a million pages of 'I'm not talking to you dickhead, I'm talking to the handsome one!' Not like you act like I _exist_."

"What do they need from _any_ of you freaks?!" Ash fires back.

The mask scoffs. "Way t' cut me to the quick, Brambles." 

Ash flinches again, face scrunching up. "Stop talking."

The expression flips once more. "Never." The Keter-Class corners him, taking full advantage of their hosts massive frame. "You and I are gonna have a chat, understand?"

Ash has _zero_ intentions of doing that. He brings up a free hand and harshly strikes the damned thing in the throat.

Just as quickly, 035 seized his wrist and cackles. "Always been a fighter, ain't that right, babe?"

Ash tries to wrench himself free. "Stop acting like you know me!!" He snarls.

With little effort, his tormenter yanks him forward. At this point, he's flush against the host's chest. 035 leans close, cool porcelain touching the D-Class' ear.

"Here's the thing, doll. That's where you're wrong." The mask teases. "We met way back in... I think it was 800 B.C.E? You went by Oisin at the time-"

Ash's headache deepens. "You're _lying_."

The mask weaves their fingers into his long hair, pulling just enough to _force_ the man to look at him. "Not at all, Brambles. In fact, I think I'm the only one here who sees right through your disguise."

"Well, I don't fucking _believe_ you!" Ash thrashes, feeling a horrible prickling wash over his skin. Like thousands of thorns. "Let me go!!"

"I'm a little hurt, if I'm honest." The SCP sighs, ratcheting their grip tighter. "We were partners, y'know. Back when you had a different face. I remember you tried to trick me every time you picked a new one. I could always tell. You would pout until I played along-"

Something in Ash's mind snaps. 

_Faint flashes of a room, equal measures familiar and ancient in appearance. A door creaks open, and a blurry shape steps inside. He can't tell much about the person, but their face is ghostly pale…_

When Ash shakes off the vision, he's in for a shock. It's not the sight of 035, who's staggered back from him. It's not the holes riddling the mask's host body. No, it's the gore streaked branches littering his arms.

It's all too much for the man. He drops to the floor, like a puppet whose strings were cut.

* * *

When he wakes up, Ash is in a cold dark room. His head throbs, and his bones creak loudly. Ugh...part of him wants this whole thing to be a bad fever dream.

However unlikely that may be.

A bright light switches on, forcing Ash to rub the spots from his eyes. Squinting at his surroundings, the man's heart jumps into his throat. This was a containment unit…

Fuck. This.

An intercom crackles to life overhead. "This is Dr.Miller, conducting an interview with-" The sound of papers shuffling. "SCP-6135."

A pit forms in the man's stomach. He looks towards the cameras. "You're shitting me, right?" 

"6135, I need you to say 'Good morning, how are you today?' in Russian, please."

Easy. Ash opens his mouth to comply...before realizing he had no _idea_ how to do it. He voices that to Miller. 

"How were you able to greet Agent Popov in his native tongue last week, then?"

That just draws a frustrated huff from him. "Sir, if I knew, I'd happily share. Just because we've _both_ discovered something new about me-"

"6135, a no would be sufficient. Now then, are you aware that you attacked another SCP?"

"Bull _shit_. I defended myself!" Ash barks. "And I hope it fucking hurt." 

Dr.Miller made a non-committal sound. "How did you manage to do it?"

"I think there's a video, and you have perfectly functional _eyes_ , sir." Maybe he could annoy the scientists into leaving him alone. Always worked for the mask.

"I'd like to hear it in your own words."

"I don't know _how_ I did it. The bastard kept grabbing me and saying we knew each other-"

"Excuse me?"

Uh…"They told me we went way back."

There's a hushed muttering, followed by a door opening and closing. Then the doctor clears his throat. "Did 035 clarify what they meant?"

"I _think_ they said we met in like...800 B.C.E? Which is impossible-"

"Not inherently." The researcher points out. "You could easily have a longer lifespan than a human."

It feels like Ash has been doused in ice water. "...right."

"Now your file says you were on death row for a murder spree. Do you remember committing those crimes?"

He nods a bit. "Mostly. Not the first one. I remember the other twelve."

Miller makes a few notes, judging by the pen sounds. "Anything prior to that?"

At first, Ash wants to say no. For the longest time, his memory started with his hands choking the life out of a woman. The only other thing was…"I'm not sure when it was, but the first thing I remember is fire. I don't know if it's from a hearth or something worse...but it felt like _I_ was a blaze too."

"So it's just the sensations, no visuals?"

"Got it in one, pal."

"Understood."

Ash chews on his lip. "035 did tell me a few other things." He offers.

"Feel free to share. You don't _have_ to wait for me to ask you directly."

The man laces his fingers together. "They said I went by Oisin when we met. Also, some shit about changing faces? I don't think they can really be trusted, though."

"Hm." The doctor pauses. "Is there anything else?"

Ash shakes his head. "Assuming you aren't going to let me out of this place? No."

"Very well. I appreciate your cooperation 6135. If you remember anything you believe is relevant to know, I'll have a team observing you. All you have to do is speak up, and they'll get me."

"Alright... you know, a bed would be nice." Ash gestures to the bare room.

"I'll see what we can do."

With that, the man is left to his own devices...what an odd turn his life has taken.

* * *

It takes a week for it to happen. One with no human contact. At least not face to face. The staff speak over the intercom and slide meals through a slot.

It starts as a persistent itch on day two. The sort where you'd scratch yourself raw and get nowhere.

On day three, patches of what appears to be tree bark start cropping up all over his body. Later that night leaves sprout from his hair and down his back. Day four sees the man's fingers and toes start to transform into twisting roots. Branches erupt from various places on his torso. Day five, and all of his hair has been replaced with foliage. His chest and stomach are replaced with a winding length of wood. On the sixth, he no longer has a fixed set of limbs. They perpetually shift so he's always in contact with the ground. The delicate structures probed at any groove in the surface. On the seventh day, his face had warped into a braided wedge of roots and branches.

Ash takes to coiling up in a corner, shivering out of fear. How had he never _known_? Even with his limited memory, surely he would have gone through this in that time-

The intercom flickers to life again. "SCP-6135, are you awake?" It was one of the female officers assigned to him. 

The man's (if you could even call him a man anymore) leaves rustle as he sits up. "Yeah."

"You're needed for a joint interview today. We're going to be escorting you there." She explained. "Do you understand?"

"Mhmm." The branches creak when Ash ambles over to the door. It slides open to reveal three guards. Two of them are armed with flamethrowers. "Is that really necessary?" 

"We can't just _assume_ you to be peaceful." The woman confirms. "This way."

Regrettably, Ash knows where they're taking him. The only SCP down this hall was the one he least wanted to see. He's ushered inside without warning.

The room was set up differently. A third of the space had been sectioned off by a thick plexiglass partition. Unfortunately, the damned mask was on the side with Ash and the staff members.

035 is attached to a mannequin, smirking over at their new guests. "Looking good, Brambles."

Ash glares. "Stop _calling_ me that."

"Aw, you used to love it when I used that nickname." Plastic fingers drum on the table top as they hum thoughtfully. "I tried to use _Ramo_ -"

"That means _branch_ you jackass!" He snorts. "It's Ash."

"A little bland, don't you think?" Before he can react, 035 shrugs. "If you like it, I guess it's fine."

A researcher enters the other side of the divided room. "That's enough, you two." She turns to her recorder. "This is Dr.Andrews, conducting a joint interview with SCP's 035 and 6135." She directs her attention back to the entities in question. "Alright, I'm going to be asking you both some questions you've probably already heard before. This is mainly for the record. Understood?"

Ash's roots begin to curl up, though he doesn't notice. "Yeah, I guess so."

035 nods, resting their chin in their palm. 

"035, you claim to have known 6135 for how long now?"

"Something like 850 B.C.E? Give or take a decade or two." They confirm.

"Do you have any recollection of this, 6135?" Andrews gives him a look.

"No. Obviously not." 

"The sarcasm is _not_ appreciated. I know you are very flippant with Dr.Miller, but I will tolerate very little of it." She glares daggers at Ash. "This is your only warning. Anyway, where did you find each other?"

035 pauses for a second. "Someplace in Ireland. Never got the city names down, I'm sure they've changed too."

"Did 6135 ever tell you what they _are_?"

"Nah. The townsfolk accused him of being a changeling. Burned down a whole forest because their kids went missing a lot." The SCP leans back. "And here comes this sexy twink with his hair on fire begging for help. Figured I'd humor the guy because he obviously wasn't a human."

"How did you know?"

"Because your run of the mill Irishman isn't going to run up to a stranger using Italian." The mask chuckles. "He was so committed to his role, it was cute."

Ash can _feel_ them staring. "You lie constantly. How do you expect her to believe that?" He grouses.

"Could just ask Doc'. He knows the story too."

Dr.Andrews cuts in. "035, who are you referring to?"

"The Plague Doctor. I think you call him 049?" The Keter-Class sounds smug as hell. "He joined our group later, but knew us very well."

The researcher mutes her microphone before making a call on her cell. Soon enough, she returns to the interview at hand. "Alright,035. We're going to be cross-checking your stories with SCP-049. Please refrain from spinning tall tales."

" 'course, doll." Proud as a peacock. "Throw some more questions at me."

"Did 6135 ever explain their abilities?"

"Sorta." The mask steeples their fingers. "From what he told me, I had the best grasp on his language skills. Technically _Ash_ only knows two of them. English and Gaelic. However, if he's chatting up someone who knows... let's say Italian, he can flawlessly mimic it."

"What about text? Can they read it?"

"Depends. If he's close enough, like in the same room, yes. It's just less precise. For example, I take notes by mushing together words from the languages I speak. If _Ash_ tried to read that it would just look like gibberish. He'd have to ask me before he could add that to his vocabulary." 035 pauses. "Make sense?"

Andrews nods. "Now, about shapeshifting?"

They chuckle. "That ones a little harder to pin down. When we met, he had no problem copying on command. I think it could only be something that was alive."

" _How_ do they do it?" She sounds irritated.

Ash can relate.

"Dunno, magic or some shit." 035 shrugs. "Not sure if he has a predictable method for choosing a face. It could be that he has a few he always defaults to. When he's isolated though... well I can see you took my advice."

The man almost launches over the table when he hears that. _035 was to blame for_ **_everything_ **.

The doctor frowns, giving Ash a glance. "And you don't recall anything?"

That earns her a mirthless laugh. " _Obviously_. Can I go now?"

The mask flips to sorrowful. "What?! You just got here!"

Ash _slams_ a fist on the table, denting it...huh. When had he reformed a hand? Regardless, he barks. "What is the fucking _point_ of me being here?! I can't give you idiots any information!"

"Maybe, just maybe, they're trying to jog your memory, Brambles?"

The feeling of thorns scrapes at the thin patches of skin forming on his arms. "I _told_ you not to call me that, you unapologetic sociopath!"

"Knock it off!" One of the guards shouts. "Both of you _settle down_ , or we will not hesitate to use force."

The mask has flipped back to that terrible shit eating grin by now. They prop their feet up on the table, reclining in their seat. "Yeah, babe. Chill out or get roasted."

Ash can feel his branches twisting into harsher angles. If looks could kill, 035 would drop. "I am _not_ your _babe_." Still...he settles back into his chair. His roots tangle around the furniture legs, squeezing until the metal groans.

Dr.Andrews sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I think we've made enough progress for today. 035 are you going to go quietly?"

The Keter-Class snickers. They take a long glance at Ash. "I'll see you soon, love." With that, they release their grip on the mannequin. They land harmlessly on the table, leaving a disgusting smear of oily goo in their wake.

_Finally_ , some peace.

"6135, I'd appreciate your continued participation in the future." The scientist says while calmly organizing her notes.

"You are _never_ getting me into a room with that jackass again." Ash warns.

"You don't have the luxury of choice anymore. You are an SCP. You'd better get used to doing things you don't enjoy." She states coldly, leaving before he can reply.

More branches have sprouted, some splintering loudly. It's only then that Ash realizes he's been knotting them into a tight ball.

After a long wait (likely giving the doctor time to vacate the hall), the half of the staff assigned to 035 gather the clown and vanish into a room. Meanwhile, Ash's escort orders him to his feet...or whatever he had now. They usher him back to his quarters, and the heavy lock slides shut before the man lets out an angry yell. 

It's a wordless thing, full of hatred. He lashes out at the walls, which scuff up, but otherwise remain in perfect condition. Gods dammit…right now, he can't care less. He's exhausted and just wants to sleep.

The crackling sound of breaking twigs echoes in the cell as Ash curls up in the corner. Hopefully they'll let him be for a while…

* * *

It's something like three days before they disturb Ash again. (Other than meals, of course)

The head guard from before nods towards the hall. "C'mon."

The path is different than before. (Good) The small group takes him down several floors, into a particularly cold section of the facility. Ash's leaves rustle with a shiver. "Would it kill you to keep it above freezing?"

"It's for sanitary reasons." Says a grumpy looking scientist in front of a heavily fortified door. "I'm Dr.Sherman, we brought you down here to translate a book for us."

"...Fine."

Sherman explains how this was going to work, a hand on his hip. "You'll be able to see them through a reinforced window, and a mic so you can ask questions. Take your time, we can always bring you back another day. Now I expect _perfection_ from you, 6135."

"I'm only hu-..." The word sticks in his throat like glass. "No one's perfect, Dr.Sherman."

The way the man looks at him, Ash expects to be struck. Instead, the irritated staff member sets about overriding the locking mechanism. He shoves the door open, then steps aside.

Ash's foliage brushes the frame as he enters. The scene before him is…messier than anticipated. Beyond the window was someone tall, shrouded in black robes. They're hunched over some sort of carcass. Once they sit back, Ash notices the elegant mask. It's swooping shape is so familiar...it could be that he had seen it in the theater. It has that look about it. 

" _Saule?_ " The SCP asks, a hint of surprise in their voice.

It's French, Ash realizes. Means willow. Something tells him that it's meant more as a nickname, than an observation. (After all, he was virtually identical to the tree in question.)

Dr.Sherman moves around Ash to use the microphone. "SCP-049, this is SCP-6135. They're here to translate your notes, as we agreed."

Somehow, he blames 035 for this.

The researcher walks him through using the mic before backing off. Not out of the room, but eh... can't win 'em all."

He settles at the desk, chair wobbling underneath him. A curling root presses the button. "Hey, my name's actually Ash. Not Saule."

"...my apologies. It _has_ been a while." The SCP folds his arms.

"One more thing. I need you to know that I've lost my memory. Please don't get upset that I don't recognize you, okay?" He adds.

The Doctor stills, eyes widening. "I see." He turns back to his examination table. "If I can help you in any way, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thanks, Doc. I will." With that, he opens the thick leather journal in front of him. It seems to be a cobbled together mess of ancient French, Gaelic, and Latin. It's slow going, because of all the medical jargon. A few hours in, he hits a word he can't crack. " 'scuse me, 049?"

The SCP had moved on from his task, currently writing in a similar looking book. He glances up. "How might I help you, Ash?"

He likes that this one doesn't say his name like an insult…

"I need to ask about a word you've used. Can you come over here?"

"Of course." 049 rises from his chair, looming tall. He walks up to the window. "Let me see."

Ash holds the book up, pointing out the chicken scratch.

"Ah, it's short for yellow bile. One of the four humors." The Doctor confirms. "It's much faster than writing the full term. Is there anything else?"

Ash holds up his own transcript. "Could you make sure that I'm not butchering this?"

The SCP squints, then his eyes crinkle up in what _seems_ to be a smile. "You've done well. Goodness knows it shouldn't be _that_ difficult. You'd be shocked how the staff members act about it. I'm aware that my penmanship isn't perfect, but-"

"049." Sherman snaps. "This isn't about having a fun day trip. 6135 is _working._ "

"Hey now, don't assume shit about me. You aren't my doctor, okay?" Ash defends. "Chatting helps me get used to his mannerisms, alright?"

That turns the researchers glare _murderous_. "Keep back talking, and I'll propose fire resistance tests to your team."

Ash's branches ball up, crackling dangerously. "Do forgive me, but you don't _frighten_ me. Having a conversation is fine, but you are _actually_ distracting me." He turns back to his task, nodding to 049. "As you were saying?"

The Doctor lights up at that, speaking of anything that strikes his fancy. It was relaxing to have someone to listen to. The text breaks down more easily as a result. If he were being totally honest, Ash can actually picture having lived with 049. Unlike 035, who he'll probably never be able to tolerate.

"My dear, I have truly missed our conversations…" the SCP admits, then gives a nervous chuckle. "That was rather forward. My apologies."

"It's fine. You're much more respectful about it than that jackass, 035."

"Oh?" The Doctor wonders. "I'm a bit surprised, you and Dỳo were always close…"

The name unlocks a memory, springing forth like a hungry cat to swallow Ash whole.

_Ash speaks with a voice he doesn't recognize as his own, announcing his presence. "Dỳo! Are you home?"_

_The mask comes out from the back room, wearing medieval garb. "Hey, babe. Catch anything good?"_

_Past Ash wraps delicate, feminine arms around 035's shoulders. "Yeah, I did. You'll let me know when you need a new host, right?"_

_"I could always get them myself." The mask points out. "Or let Doc make me one...he always gets something wrong though…"_

_"He does it for you, idiot." Ash scolds. "If you didn't put off getting your_ **_own_ ** _, we wouldn't have to do it."_

_"Oisinnnn!" Dỳo whines dramatically. "You're so mean to me!"_

_"If you think this is mean, I'd hate for you to find out what I'm actually like." Ash snorts, taking the mask's chin in a hand that's rapidly turning into roots._

_"Could you two flirt more quietly?" 049 huffs from what Ash is instinctively aware to be the Doctor's study. "You're shameless-"_

Then a burst of electricity rips Ash out of the memory. He can see 049 hovering at the window, worry evident in his eyes. Then Dr.Sherman gets into his face.

"6135, what the hell was that?!"

Ash rather dislikes this scientist. "A memory."

The guards look at each other before radioing Dr.Miller. They quickly explain the situation before turning to Sherman. "No more translating for today. 6135, can you get up?"

"Probably. Gimme a sec." He grumbles, branches pushing him up right before withdrawing into his torso. He glances back into the windowed room. Unsure of what to say, Ash just waves to 049.

The Doctor gives him a curt nod, wringing his hands together.

With that, Ash is hurried back to his cell. Dr.Miller is waiting for him on the intercom. The man doesn't have the energy to beat around the bush. Without any fanfare, he shares what he saw.

"Do you have any idea what could have triggered it?" The researcher asks.

"049 mentioned that one of 035's names was Dỳo…"

"You said 'one of'. Were you told this was an alias?"

"I mean...not really? I just figured it's in their nature to use fake names." Ash shrugs with an approximation of a shoulder. 

"I see. Is there anything else you'd like to share?" Miller can be heard organizing his notes.

"No."

"Alright. Try to get some rest, 6135. You've had a stressful week."

Ash can hear the intercom switch off. He sighs deeply. Perhaps he should get a journal of his own.

* * *

A few months pass before the next big event. There were the occasional translation sessions, but none of them caused any issues. Likely because they were keeping him away from his former partners.

Ash is moved into a new unit, one with lights that mimic the sun. He's also granted a bed...of sorts. It's much closer to a Japanese futon than a box spring. Considering how large he could get when he spread his roots, it was the better choice.

He keeps himself busy by testing his copying abilities. Voices come most naturally. The first time he shows off, it's to his observation staff. "Do I sound like Dr.Miller?"

After a moment, one of them responds. "Frighteningly so."

Hell yes. Ash is _finally_ getting a handle on this nonsense. As such he becomes more friendly with the staff. Entertainment is in short supply here, so he'll take what he can get.

The shapeshifting is harder. Mostly, he focuses on forming limbs. Getting his roots to weave into fingers is frustrating. The damned mask said he used to do this with no effort. That doesn't help, though. _How_ did he do it?

It takes time, but eventually Ash is able to take on the form he was in when he came to the Foundation. It's the most natural, outside of the big ass tree. It brings him a sense of pride. Not long after, he starts impersonating staff. His team isn't quite as amused by this as he is. If he's copying one of the guards, they like to claim he's got something wrong. (Usually weight) It's probably an ego thing. Humans are vain after all…

It was the first time Ash had ever thought of himself as anything other than human. The rest of that day, the creature had huddled up in a corner. An identity crisis was never fun.

Another month passes before Ash stops thinking of himself as an unfortunate D-Class. He's an SCP. Might as well admit it. This is probably why 035 treated the changeling harshly...they knew he was in denial.

Doesn't make Ash hate them any less.

One morning, his guards usher him out, flamethrowers in hand. Apparently Dr.Sherman was getting sick of waiting for Miller to allow 6135 to be used again. After an intense shouting match, Ash's researcher had given in, signing the permission forms.

Thankfully it was the journal again. Ash follows calmly, occasionally shifting his shape to mess with his least favorite staff member. After all, the scientist had no clue that the SCP had been practicing. Soon enough, the group stands in front of the heavy containment unit. Ash slips back into his true form as he's ushered inside.

It's not terribly different from the first time 6135 had been here. Perhaps a little bloodier, but similar.

"Morning Doc."

049 looks up in surprise. "Ah, good morning, Ash. I wasn't expecting to see you again. At least, not so quickly after the incident. How have you been? Your leaves look healthier."

Ash settles onto a bench. The staff must have decided it suited his large root structure better. "They've got sun lamps in my new cell. I wanna show you something before we get to work today, if that's alright?"

"6135." Dr.Sherman warns. The jackass had decided to supervise from an observation room this time. Probably because Ash appeared to be a more obvious threat than before.

"It'll take two seconds, chill." The changeling retorts. He turns back to the Doctor, settling his branches into an impressive mirror of 049. "How do I look?"

"6135, stop stalling or I will make sure you regret your disobedience!" Sherman barks over the intercom.

"Kill joy." Ash growls, but drops the illusion. "Anyway Doc, how have you been?" He asks as he opens the book.

"As well as one can be in a place like this." 049 gathers a cloth, busying himself with cleaning. "I can see you've been practicing. Well done, Ash."

The changeling's leaves fluff up like a proud bird. "Thanks." He picks up a pen and focuses on his job, rather than testing the researchers patience.

The room settles into a comfortable rhythm. 049 talks about his recent experiments with an excitement that would make Ash smile, if his true form had a mouth. 6135 explains how he's made a game of startling his observation staff by pretending to be a trapped doctor.

This goes on for an hour when the lights suddenly cut out.

There's a tense moment where the only things visible in the gloom are the guards' flamethrowers and Ash's glowing eyes. Then the room is washed in red light. A siren begins wailing.

Both doors abruptly fling open and the guards begin shouting orders. Something in that moment compels Ash to make the first move. He slams his roots into one of the guards before he can activate his weapon.

Beside him, the other one is pivoting to torch 6135 when he drops. Confused, Ash looks over to find 049 hovering over the man's still form.

"My dear, could you keep an eye on the entryway while I work on this one?" The Euclid-Class requests politely.

Ash nods, still a bit stunned. He impersonates one of the fallen guards, waiting in the door looking menacing. As he waits, a few dog-like beings dart by. They bark out human voices, begging for help.

One of them pauses to sniff at 6135 before leaving him be.

"Alright, Ash. Let's be on our way." The Doctor places a hand on his shoulder, pushing past him.

In 049's wake, two bodies stagger into the hall. One has a hand on backwards and the other looks all sorts of busted up.

_"He always gets something wrong, though."_

"I... I think I understand why they have you in heavy containment now…" Ash half-jokes. 

"They just refuse to acknowledge my Cure." He sighs. "A pity really."

Ash spies a few more staff members at the end of the hall. He skewers them with long vines, reeling them in like a spear fisher.

049 gets to work, breaking into the chest cavities without hesitation. As he 'cures' the unfortunate guards, Ash spots another figure approaching.

Regrettably, they're all too familiar.

"Ey' you two!" 035 beckons. "Glad t' see my boys-"

"I'm not your boy, Dỳo." 6135 warns.

The mask shudders, grin deepening. "Missed hearing you say my name, Brambles."

Roots curl up into a fist before 049 interrupts. "Please don't start fighting. We should be focusing on our escape." He rises to his feet, shadowed by the growing herd of animated corpses.

Ash bristles, but obeys the Doctor. 035 trails after them, whistling a tune and twirling a hammer.

The changeling is practically glued to 049's side, making crackling sounds whenever the mask tries talking to him. It's a tense journey, especially with some of the halls being pitch black.

"We should be close." 035 observes. "Not half ba-"

A tall set of doors swing open, and the three are faced with a wall of agents in riot gear. They put up a valiant fight, but loss is inevitable. These guys seem far better prepared than the guards Ash has grown used to. One manages to jam a lit flare into the changeling's branches. Panicked, he stumbles back into an open room. The door is slammed shut as the lock slides into place.

6135 yanks the damned thing from his side, choking out the embers with a tight ball of roots. He thinks he's alone at first. Then he hears a soft, child-like. "Hello?"

Turning, he's surprised. Three of those red dogs are huddled into a corner. They sniff at his leaves, quietly muttering amongst themselves.

"Big tree friendly?" One asks.

Their native tongue is strange to Ash, but it's doable. "Yes, I think so. Thank you for not attacking me earlier."

That makes the critters perk up. "We only eat bad guys." One asserts.

"I see." Ash chuckles. "I really do appreciate it. You gave my friend and I time to escape."

The three SCP's huddle up around his roots. "Good." One says. "Keep tree friend safe." Another boasts. "Did good job." The last one purrs.

Ash isn't familiar with these guys, but they seemed to be very friendly with him. Maybe he'd ask Dr.Miller once he was recontained.

* * *

Eventually, the more intense agents gather him from the darkened cell. Ash warns the hounds to not interfere. He'd hate for them to get shot… 

He's herded into his own room, flamethrowers on all sides. Truthfully, the changeling isn't sure why he took part in the breach. He was well aware it would be a disaster.

Perhaps it was out of a strange sense of loyalty to 049? It doesn't really matter. He was responsible for the deaths of multiple staff members. That's the only thing the Foundation would care about.

When Miller speaks over the intercom, he sounds so disappointed. "6135, I expected better from you."

"Why?" Ash challenges. "Because you knew me when I was 'human'?"

A tired sigh. "No. I trusted you to understand how pointless escaping is. You know you'd be recaptured quickly."

"So? I want to have memories of the outside. Dr.Miller, I don't want to be caged for the rest of my life."

The researcher sounds fed up. "How many breaches have you seen in your time here?"

"... Probably fifteen?"

"So you should have known you'd get caught." The man asserts. "I know you've been very helpful and well behaved, but this is inexcusable. You're going to be losing privileges for this, 6135."

"Not like I had many...but I get it." Ash sprawls out on his futon. "May I ask a question, Dr.Miller?"

"I can't stop you."

"There were these particular SCP's I've never seen before. They looked like red, eyeless dogs? Could also mimic human speech?" Ash shifts his shape to show what he means before turning back. "Do you know what I mean?"

"939. Why?" The doctor asks suspiciously.

"Just curious. They were kind to me." 6135 hums, branches popping as he stretches. 

"If all goes well, you probably won't meet them again. They're very dangerous."

"As am I, Dr.Miller." Ash retorts. "I'm sure you realize that now."

"Indeed. Dr.Sherman is petitioning for you to be reclassified as Keter-Class." The man explains, clicking his pen on the desk.

"Do you really think I'm _that_ much of a risk, sir?"

"No. I believe you're best described as Euclid." Miller agrees, chair scraping audibly as he stands. "Don't give me a reason to change my mind, 6135. Understood?"

"Yes. Have a good night, doctor."

With that, Ash's sun lamps are shut off. The halogen bulbs take over, buzzing loudly. Ah well. The changeling had anticipated those to be considered a privilege. Easy come, easy go. The Foundation couldn't stay mad at him forever.

Especially if they wanted to read 049's journals. 

**Author's Note:**

> once again, my partner made me post my self insert shit  
> if you dont think ash is going to adopt a bunch of 939, ding dong you are wrong.


End file.
